


Sgt. Tuttle’s Lonely Hearts Club

by Macadamanaity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macadamanaity/pseuds/Macadamanaity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, I get by."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sgt. Tuttle’s Lonely Hearts Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinky_kneazle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_kneazle/gifts).



> Thank you SO MUCH to my amazing betas [the_acrobat](http://the-acrobat.livejournal.com) and [minttown1](http://minttown1.livejournal.com).

Major Houlihan marched across the compound of the 4077th with a brisk gait, meeting few eyes. That is to say, it appeared as if all was normal with the head nurse, and nothing amiss, which was of course, her intent.

However, today was _not_ normal and several things _were_ amiss. Half the nurses had come down with the mess tent’s special of the week, so she’d been short staffed and taking on extra shifts for two days. Beyond that, she had received yet another letter from her father that somehow managed to chide her for the divorce without actually using the words 'divorce,' 'marriage,' 'husband,' 'wife,' or even 'Donald.' And she wasn't even going to begin to acknowledge the fact that she saw Klinger in the exact same outfit she had planned to wear for her next trip to Tokyo.

She arrived at her destination and barged in without so much as a knock or an 'are you decent?'

He wasn't.

They remained in tableau for a heart beat or two.

"Well, I hope you’re enjoying the show." He moved his hand again, just a little.

This was not quite what she needed to round out her day from hell, but at least here was a target for her frustration.

"Pierce! You're disgusting."

"Major, the penis and scrotum are nothing you've never seen before in the O.R. Or out of it." He punctuated the remark with another pump of his hand.

"Captain, may I remind you that yours are nothing I've never seen before either."

Honestly, he was being ridiculous.

"And here I thought you wanted me to stop."

And there was the leer that completed the lewd picture – but she was pretty sure she saw some genuine fear in his eyes at that moment that it was meant to cover. Good enough.

"I just came for the gin – what you come for is your own damn business."

"Well let me buy you a drink then." His earlier activity seemingly forgotten, Hawkeye tucked himself in perfunctorily, belaying no discomfort, and reached for the still.

"Ah ah ah.. hands to your self, at least until you've scrubbed down a few hundred times." She grabbed two more-or-less clean martini glasses from atop BJ's trunk and poured them each a glass.

Margaret put his within grabbing distance but made no move to hand it to him, and then knocked back her own in one swallow, pouring herself one more. Better.

She took a seat at the end of Charles' cot, noting that it was poorly made. Probably he still thought that's what servants were for.

"So where are tweedle-married and tweedle-imperious? Avoiding your one-man show?"

"Oh, the band's on at ten. We're here all week! Try the fish." He raised his glass, humming an indistinct jazz song for several bars.

She remembered from the roster that Charles was on duty but she had no idea where to start looking for BJ if he wasn't with Hawkeye.

"Beej is performing some good deed or another for Father Mulcahy and the orphanage," Hawkeye eventually offered, with just a hint of pride coloring his remark.

Curious, Margaret leaned in,

"Pierce, you may be a degenerate but that sounds right up your slightly cleaner alley. Why aren't you there?"

He shrugged, exaggeratedly.

"Oh you know, this and that. And then some."

She fixed him with her best 'horse shit' glare until he deflated a little.

"Really, it's nothing. I've been tired and tense which isn't anything new, of course, but I thought I'd take whatever quiet time we had to rest. Relax a little." His voice sounded thinner than usual all of a sudden, and taut, for all its light words.

"Oh is _that_ what they're calling it these days?"

He warmed again to her teasing tone.

"You look like you might need to relax a little too, Major." Eyebrow-waggle.

The gin had done enough work at this point that she laughed instead of slapping him, though it had been a tossup for a moment.

"And that's what the drinks'r for. I'll just take one more for the road, and leave you alone with your... thoughts." She stood up, poured her glass full again, and then raised it as she turned to walk out the door.

" _Cin cin_ ," he called.

She meandered back to her tent, careful not to spill a drop. She avoided the more populated corners and paths of camp, arriving at her door unwitnessed.

Back in her own space, she put on her record-player, softly, and picked up the romance novel that had been making rounds through the camp. All week, she'd been trying to get through it but hadn't been able to read more than a page without being interrupted. Every ten minutes someone wanted something from her or at least to ask her from whom they could get it.

But now that she had both the time and space, laid out on her cot, she found her interest wandering after just a few pages. Throwing down the book in disgust and throwing back her drink with more determination than relish, she stared at the canvas wall.

Maybe after a few minutes she'd be unselfconscious enough to take Pierce's joking advice. It wasn't that she felt any shame about it – army nights were long, and good men were few, after all – but to do it only a short time after catching him? It surely wasn't proper.

Though there probably weren't etiquette books about this.

She sighed and mentally conceded defeat, pulling out her sheet and olive-drab blankets. She climbed under, unbuttoning her trousers.

Margaret was loud during sex as a rule; she was loud during most things. But, she was quiet now, touching herself lightly, with lazy swipes and circles, not thinking about anyone in particular.

She was already getting wet and was pretty sure this was going to be a quick one. She must have been more tightly-wound than she had thought.

She sped up the motions she was making with her fingers, dipping into her self once, twice as counterpoint, and then pressed harder still.

Perhaps it was the alcohol but she seemed to level out at this point of sharp, frustrating pleasure. She tried to push herself past it, with different movements, speeds, but relief seemed to slip further away the more she worked at it.

Just when she had almost decided to give it up as a maddeningly lost cause, there was a knock at her door. Of course.

"Who is it?"

She knew.

"Me."

"Go away, Hawkeye."

He came in. She glared at him, but decided not to stop after all.

He grinned, looking flushed – as if he arrived that way, Margaret thought, rather than blushing at the sight of her.

"Need a hand?" Waving his.

"All the better to slap you with."

He wasn't actually looking at her, she realized, keeping his eyes improbably averted, though he wouldn’t be able to see anything truly scandalous anyway. She was oddly touched – and her release was suddenly building again.

"So it's inspiration you're looking for?"

She grinned.

"Oh, I get by."

Almost.

She took a deep breath.

And there.

When Margaret opened her eyes again, Hawkeye was watching her warmly. She was sure he had no right to look that pleased with himself but when he took a step toward her, she couldn't quite bring herself to throw the book at her bedside at him.

With a wink he reached down, picked up the empty Martini glass, and blew her a kiss as he exited her tent again, without a word.

**Author's Note:**

> I came maybe THIS close to naming this story M*A*S*Hsterbation. You're welcome.


End file.
